THE THIRD LOVER

Synopsis

You open the door to the Teachers’ Lounge, and a cacophony of voicesdetonates. The teachers gossip about the previous weekend. The upcomingregional inter-school sports competition. Or the weather forecast. But Sophiaknows how to avoid getting lost in that morning tangle of excited nerves: youhone in on the pastry table, with its passable coffee and doughnuts. Just focuson that, whispers her inner voice, still squeaky from last night’s restlessness.

Yet even this strategy has its downside, because within seconds, Mr. Frome—the human manifestation of industrial smog—is by her side throwing at herhastily made-up pick-up lines just to hold her attention.“Now I remember who your twin sister is,” Mr. Frome says, his face that of anancient man who has just discovered fire. “It’s that singer. You know the songthat goes…” Mr. Frome tilts her head trying to summon the lyrics. “Causebaby you’re a firework, make them go oh, oh, oh…”If it weren’t for the more pressing task of choosing the right doughnut tomatch her coffee, she would have seen how Mr. Frome’s eyes bulge out oftheir sockets in trying to hit the high notes.“Katy Perry!” Mr. Frome explodes. “Stupid me. It was Katy Perry! You lookexactly like her!” He sidles closer, like a conspirator plotting to stab Caesar.“Any chance you’re related to Miss Perry?”Her response, as always, serves the dual purpose of polite acknowledgementof Mr. Frome’s sorry existence, and also icy dismissal. She flashes thesweetest, perfect, pearly white-teeth American smile. “Sorry. Doesn’t ring abell.” She strides off.Mr. Frome is left standing there by the table of pastries, uncertain whether tospend the next few precious seconds staring more at Sophia’s ass or at hersmooth long neck—both of which are receding in the fair distance.Mr. Frome isn’t actually reliable—he gives off that sticky impression that heregards the world as a huge porn movie, with the people he meets merelyactresses ready to play out his fantasies. In plain language, he’s the slimycreep that thrives at the bottom of a duck pond—and here, in this school, heunfortunately teaches history. But Sophia couldn’t help feeling flattered—especially now. With the recent inclusion of Brad Silverstone in her class, sheneeds some reassurance that she is beautiful—her husband’s earnest supply of“you are heartbreakingly pretty” notwithstanding. In the ladies’ room, Sophiastares at her face in the mirror, trying to glean any of that “hot pop star vibe”people like Mr. Frome have always used as some tired pick-up line. Shescrunches up her breasts and admires her cleavage—full, milky white, jigglingso subtly with the promise of untold pleasure. She turns her face at differentangles, and couldn’t help but agree with all those fools: yes, that’s a face andbody that could launch a thousand ships. Or hit pop songs. Or turn otherwisedecent men into smarmy, twitchy history teachers.Sophia couldn’t put a stop to the sexual advances from the opposite sex evenin the classroom—although in this setting, she has the upper hand as the socalledmales are merely strapping sixteen-year-olds who have yet tounderstand the finer aspects of compelling a real lady to take off her panties.With the exception of Brad Silverstone, who got in her class by a specialprivilege—his family owns the school—everyone in the classroom is putty inher hands. But now, Brad is staring at her—a few days in her class and the boyhas succumbed to the inevitable. She pretends she’s reading the book on herdesk, underlining lines she finds important, writing annotations, andeverything else a teacher normally does. But inside Sophia Masterson is aquivering little schoolgirl swooning for that boy, and it takes Sophia all heracting skills to continue playing her role in this little drama. Because if Bradrealizes he’s part of her dirty fantasies with her husband, the can of worms willbe opened. All hell breaks loose. And all those clichés about bad consequenceswill fester in the here and now.Sophia did not really recognize Brad when she first met him at the park—theowner of those chiseled good looks and disarming smile was often in somelocal newspaper’s lifestyle page, forced to preen for the camera by his father,and Sophia, unfortunately, never liked reading newspapers. Brad, according tolocal and international speculation, is obviously being groomed to assumeleadership of the multinational Silverstone business empire when the timecomes. But that time should be a decade in the future: at eighteen, older by acouple of years than the other high school seniors, and despite all his strange,attractive mixture of boyish nonchalance and sex appeal, qualities that havebeen pushing Sophia’s buttons since Day One, Brad in all honesty is still aboy. And he’s bad news, if you don’t know how to play your cards right.As she sits there, playing the English teacher’s role to this class of rowdy boyswho barely bother hiding their pubescent desire for her, Sophia spends half ofher time pretending maturity and the other half desperately enforcing thatpretense. At heart, though, she’s still that naughty young girl who loves totease. She often catches her students—what with their raging adolescenthormones and pent-up desires—staring at her butt with their jaws dropped asshe writes on the board. And when she’s feeling very naughty, she lovestorturing them more in little mischievous ways: a pen drops, for example, andshe innocently bends over slowly to pick it up, her skirt inevitably pulled uphigh by the angle of her curves, revealing her smooth, shapely thighs and ahint of lacy underwear. At times she toys with her pen using her tongue,pretending to be absent-mindedly thinking about something as she reads abook. Sophia knows all the secret hard-ons, the uncomfortable pent-up lust ofyouth, the talk in the cafeteria, and she enjoys it all. It’s safe as long as sheputs up this innocent persona, this consistent pretense of never being aware ofhow hot she is or the tornadoes of lust she is causing, like Marilyn Monroe inone of those “dumb blonde” movies. Except Sophia’s actually a brunette and ifyou look hard enough, you’ll recognize an awareness in her eyes—she knowsshe’s playing a role for the sake of appearances, the kind of intelligence thatthe boys at Camden High School, with their preoccupation with that importantmatter of where babies come from, could barely discern.In her two years of teaching English and literature at this high school, SophiaMasterson has lived half her days in a fantasy world, which she unleashes, likea dam of raging waters, at night, in bed with her husband.“I caught Jim looking at my breasts,” she’d purr in the middle of love-making.Derek would use his mouth to play with her nipples. “Who’s Jim, again,darling?”“That boy I told you